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“E NTER YOUR HOUSE AS IF we are old friends, Sir Sebastian. Remember, I will shoot you if you so much as whisper. I only unbound your hands in case your neighbors happened to be watching.” Sir Thomas dug the barrel of his weapon into Bash’s back as they crossed the threshold into his modest home.

Bash tossed his hat onto his desk, as he would usually after a long day guarding. His gaze rested on his desk clock. It was slightly out of place. Someone was inside his home. His gaze roved over the room, then he heard a snore above him.

Someone is sleeping in my room? Perhaps Wynn had come to work over the list with him? Or mayhap a drunkard from the pub made his way inside . But a drunkard would have made a trail. There was an ally in this home. Perhaps he could escape.

“We aren’t alone,” Sir Thomas growled. “Bind his hands at once.”

The men did so, giving the rope an extra tug or two.

If he moved his hands too much, they would turn purple. “Is this where the torture begins? I must admit, while I may seem strong and all, I am quite averse to pain.”

“Another lie. We’ve seen you practice with the guards. You can take a beating without a word of complaint.” Sir Thomas eyed the ceiling, as if he could see through it and find out who was snoring.

“You want us to go check it out, Sir Thomas?”

“Not alone. I want to use Sir Sebastian as a human shield. If the man above is a friend, he will shoot you, but not him.” He shoved Bash toward the stairs.

To the man’s credit, Bash supposed, Sir Thomas did not have his lackeys act as an added barrier between Sir Thomas and a bullet.

Bash slowly climbed the stairs and paused at his ajar bedroom door.

He squinted in the dark. A slight man was sprawled out on the bed.

No yeoman or guard was so short of stature.

Sir Thomas pushed him forward. Bash stepped where the creak of the floorboards would alert the person in his bed.

The man jolted upright, keeping the covers pulled to his chin.

“Who are you?” The tall lackey lifted a rapier to the man’s neck.

The fellow yelped and dropped the covers, revealing a stream of golden locks that cascaded to the bed. The sight had the lackey dropping his rapier’s tip to the floorboards.

“Evie?” Bash dropped to his knees, horrified. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Bash!” She sprang from his bed and launched herself at him. Her arms found purchase around his neck as her momentum pushed him to sit back on his heels, and she sank into his lap. “Oh, Bash.” Her sobs shook her slight frame.

“Whatever is wrong?” Something terrible must have occurred to bring about her being in his bed and in his clothing and weapons. His throat tightened, the very thought of his Evie in danger burning his insides.

Sir Thomas clicked his tongue. “I see you kept more than just the money in your robbery. I must admit, it takes a lot to surprise me. I did not foresee a romance between the young lady and the highwayman. I had heard of a wedding but did not realize who it was you had wed. Felicitations to you both. As touching as this scene is, we really must be off if we are to make it to France at a reasonable hour.”

“France?” She jerked away from Bash, eyes widening.

Under the haze of sleep, had she thought they were Bash’s friends who were waking her at swordpoint because they considered her a threat?

“Sir Thomas? W-what is going on?” Her gaze moved from Bash to the men before them, weapons drawn, and at last to Bash’s tied hands. “What are you about? Why would you bring Sir Sebastian to France?”

Bash leaned his forehead to hers. “I need you to be brave, Evie. These men know who I am and wish to exploit me.”

“And now that you’ve seen who is behind this kidnapping, you will need to join us.” He snapped his fingers, and his men sprang for her. “What fun we shall have using you as leverage.”

Bash roared, leaping to his feet and headbutting the nearest as the second lifted a sword to his throat.

She raised both her hands. “Please don’t hurt him, Sir Thomas! I will go with you peaceably.” She gave Bash a smile that made his heart ache. “Don’t fight them, Bash. I’ll be safe as long as I’m with you.”

If only that were true. Because of me you have never been in more danger. He grunted as the men shoved him to the floorboards.

“How touching to see the two of you have grown so starry-eyed. How did you get such a lamb to fall in love with a lion?” Sir Thomas chuckled. “On the drive to Bath, she hardly spared me more than a few sentences from her book, but I suppose I am not as dashing as I once was.”

“And seeing how you are the villain in this story, I have more discernment than I realized,” Evie mumbled.

“Perhaps, but then if you did have discernment, I doubt you would have fallen asleep in this man’s bed.

It is telling about how much she trusts you, Sir Sebastian.

” He grasped her hand in his and lifted her small finger.

“Now, how about you show me something interesting, Sir Sebastian, before this young lady discovers the pain of a broken finger.”

She swallowed but did not cry out. The sweet woman lifted her chin, scowling defiantly at Sir Thomas. But Bash knew the man did not make idle threats.

“I vow I have nothing of worth to you. But I do keep a log of my shifts.” He nodded to a plank at the foot of the bed.

“It’s under the floorboard.” There was nothing of interest in the log, but as he was private natured, he tended to keep such things hidden—especially when the latest entries were scattered with his thoughts of Evie throughout the day…

along with that highly embarrassing list from Wynn of how Bash might woo his new bride.

Her wrists chafed after being tied for an hour with rough ropes as they tore apart Bash’s home, looking for anything the Prince Regent would not wish to fall into the wrong hands.

She longed to be free from the ropes, but she doubted it would happen anytime soon, especially if she was to be on a vessel heading to France soon.

And if they were heading to France, how could they save Grandmother in time?

Now lying with her face pressed to the filthy floor of the coach, she held Bash’s gaze.

Gone was the awkwardness between them as she drank in the sight of him.

She did not know what the next hour would bring, but her heart was content to be beside Bash at last. Granted, they were captives of a mad Napoleon follower.

No matter the danger, or how foolish it was, she felt safe with the man who knew how to leap from the back of his horse and land with ease atop a racing stagecoach and halt it, who would protect the lady stranger within after she fell out the stage door in a faint at his boots, and go so far as to return her funds with interest. To think she was married to such a man.

If she had to be bound, what a man of honor to be tied to for eternity.

When Bash had tried to whisper a question directed at her, Sir Thomas squeezed her arm so hard, she knew a bruise had to be left behind.

All they possessed to communicate was their eyes.

In her stories, the hero and heroine had entire conversations in silence with only their eyes, but that was to convey love.

How does one communicate through eyes that a dear grandmother is being held in an asylum by a horrible cousin?

She rested her head against Bash’s shoulder and breathed in his scent of leather and woodsmoke, pulling her racing heart and thoughts to Scripture and prayer.

Casting all your care upon Him; for He careth for you.

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.

Lord, do not let me be devoured by my anxiety. I need to be strong, firm, and steadfast. I give You this situation. Guide me.

Bash nudged her with his shoulder, a question in his eyes. She couldn’t tell him everything now. She shook her head and leaned into his shoulder again, praying for deliverance for Grandmother.

The closed coach halted, and the door wrenched open, revealing a massive ship bobbing in the harbor. Men darted about on the deck, readying it to set sail at once. Is no one suspicious of this activity at this hour? England is at war after all.

Sir Thomas motioned them out with the barrel of his gun. “Time for your honeymoon trip. How does France sound?”

They scowled up at him but kept their mouths shut as they rolled to standing and Vivienne stumbled out of the coach. Nothing good would come from answering his taunt.

Sir Thomas grasped her hair, an action that had Bash lunging for him. One lackey seized him by the arms, while the second halted Bash’s attack with a blow to the eye.

“If you so much as touch her, I will end you,” Bash gritted out through his teeth.

“No need for such dramatics.” Sir Thomas chuckled as he stuffed Vivienne’s hair into her collar, pulled the hat over her hair, and shoved her to Bash.

“Best see to it that you remain disguised. If any of my men realize you are a woman and catch sight of your shapely limbs in those breeches, I cannot be responsible for their comments, nor their actions.”

She felt Bash tense against her. Perhaps it was foolish, but her fear lessened when she was next to Bash, which was baffling, given her tendency for anxiety.

But even in those beginning days with him on the road, her anxiety had not toppled her.

It was as if her soul had recognized Bash as safe before she even knew him.

God was with her, and He had sent her Bash to aid her. She was safe—no matter what happened.

She followed behind Sir Thomas with Bash before them both.

The gentle breeze cooled her hot cheeks.

Surely the sweat was causing her ash sideburns to run.

Honestly, how did gentlemen wear so many layers?

It was difficult wearing stays and petticoats, but they were light compared to all this fabric that swallowed her and the neckcloth that threatened to choke her at any moment.

As she strode across the deck, she was thankful that the heavy clothing hid her curves.

The crew seemed to all be required to scowl, wear scruffy beards, and have bulging muscles that bespoke no weakness.

She fought against a gag as the wind changed.

The sailors stunk like fish left in the sun for three days. She had never been fond of seafood.

She followed Sir Thomas belowdecks, the narrow steps and lack of a handhold sending her pulse to skittering.

If she tripped, she would break her neck.

She took the steps gingerly, timing them with the gentle rocking of the vessel.

In the hull at the stern stood the brig, with imposing iron bars forming a single wall.

Inside was a cot with bedclothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed since the bed was first dressed.

She bobbled as the ship swayed, and Bash pressed his shoulder into her to steady her as the sailor unlocked the iron door.

The sailor shoved in Bash and then her. She tripped over the threshold, and Bash tried to catch her with his body, but there was only so much he could do to break her fall without his hands and they crashed to the floor, her atop him.

Sir Thomas grinned, holding up the lamp. “Enjoy your stay aboard. We will be in France by dawn.” He tromped up the stairs, leaving them with the single swaying lamp just outside the iron bars.

“Evie? First, are you hurt?” His deep voice rumbled beneath her.

Her cheeks heated as she shifted off the knight and tested her limbs. “My knees and arm are bruised, but I am well.”

He exhaled heavily. “Good. Now, why were you in my room in London , dressed in my clothes?”